


Good Daddy

by ScarletRaven1001



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Lemon, One Shot, Romance, Smut, Vegebul, day2capricorn, dragon ball smut, february 2018 smutfest, spring 2018 smutfest, tpthvegebulsmutfest, vegebul smut is the best smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletRaven1001/pseuds/ScarletRaven1001
Summary: Vegeta gets injured after a sparring match, and though he had adamantly stated that it was nothing, his very concerned wife insists on fussing over him… and she was being very, very insistent.Let it never be said that Vegeta does not indulge his wife’s whims.[A one-shot, for the February 2018 / Spring 2018 TPTH Vegebul Smutfest. Day two: Capricorn.]





	Good Daddy

The exhausted grunts, frustrated shouts, and sarcastic taunts echoed within the walls of the training room as a young, lavender-haired demi-Saiyan tried with all his might to land a square hit on his infuriatingly smug, flame-haired sire.

Vegeta smirked. The boy was skilled. His tactics were good, his punches strong but controlled. He had definitely come a long way, and the Prince of Saiyans cackled in his head as he thought about how much more talented his son was when compared to Kakarot’s younger spawn.

Trunks was making him very proud, indeed. Not that he would tell him that, given the current situation.

“You're sloppy, boy”, the older Saiyan taunted, easily parrying a blow from his son.

Both were sweaty and exhausted, but Trunks was determined to make progress today.

Vegeta had dared him: if Trunks could hit him, and make it _hurt,_ they were going on another trip, and this time, to space.

Vegeta knew that Trunks was dying to go on a space trip. Bulma, Gohan, and Krillin had all told him stories of their trip to Old Namek, and though the stories were slightly different when told from any of their three perspectives, all Trunks knew was that he _wanted_ to go to space _._

Trunks had, on several occasions, begged Vegeta to tell him stories about his experiences in space before reaching earth. However, he usually refused. All of his “travels” had been riddled with death and destruction, and he sincerely could find nothing worth telling.

He knew that his son had already seen blood and death at a young age, and though he himself had seen considerably more gore at a ridiculously younger age, he felt that what Trunks had seen was already too much.

Vegeta was already a jaded asshole. What was the point in making his son one, as well?

But he digressed. The dare, as it was, started from the fact that Vegeta was in a strangely talkative mood that morning, and when Trunks asked about space, he had shocked them both when he recounted a story about a box of crystals that he had acquired from a now destroyed planet.

He conveniently left out the fact that the crystals were stolen.

After a purge.

Which he had carried out with Raditz, who was Goten’s uncle.

And that the planet was destroyed by Nappa, who had once killed several of the people that Trunks now interacted with on a regular basis.

Trunks listened with rapt attention as Vegeta told him about how he had flown off with the box of crystals hidden in his pod, covertly finding a way to hide them from Freeza. The crystals weren’t even particularly valuable, but he had been feeling petulant that day and wanted to keep something, anything, a secret from the lizard tyrant.

Vegeta had hidden the box in a cave on the side of a mountain in an exoplanet orbiting a star in a nearby constellation.

“I believe the star is less than 30 light years away from earth,” he had said dismissively, “and no other life form had been there before me. I thought it was a fine place to hide my contraband since it was a dead planet and nobody would bother going there. The crystals are probably still there.”

“Oh wow, papa,” Trunks had remarked in awe, before a determined glint entered his eyes – a very familiar glint that he had probably inherited from both parents. “Papa! We should retrieve those crystals!”

Vegeta immediately understood what this was leading to. “No, Trunks. We are not travelling to space just for a box of crystals.”

“But travelling to space would be so awesome!” the younger Saiyan protested. “We had fun when we went on that trip last time, right? When we ate all that food? This would be even better!”

“Trunks, it is hardly the same thing - ”

“We could give the crystals to mama! She would love those!”

“Your mother has enough crystals and gems to fill Kakarot’s house thrice!”

“But papa,” Trunks continued to whine, “Those are different! Those are from space! From before I was born! Those are so much cooler than mama’s diamonds!”

Vegeta considered. This troublesome issue could be driven to his advantage. Then, he had an idea.

“Well, how about a bet, to see if you are worthy of space travel, boy?” he smirked, and Trunks perked up.

“What kinda bet, papa?”

“I bet,” he started, leaning forward to look his son dead in the eye. “since you have been slacking off on your training, that you cannot even land a good punch on me.”

Vegeta grinned inwardly as he watched his son’s face contort, his lips thinning and his fists clenching at his sides.

He had, at the very least, managed to instill in his son the importance of keeping his Saiyan pride, and that was obvious as Trunks was clearly battling the anger brewing in him at being “belittled” by his father.

“I can more than land a punch on you papa,” the boy answered, his eyes, so like his own, narrowed dangerously. “I can hit you hard, and I promise it’s gonna hurt.”

Pride for his son exploded in Vegeta’s chest at hearing the arrogant words coming from Trunks. He can, in fact, recall himself saying something very similar to an opponent in the past.

The boy was turning into a better version of him, and Vegeta once again found himself thankful that he had made the decision to stay on earth to build this family with Bulma.

“Alright Trunks,” he said, picking up his dishes to bring them to the sink, yet keeping watch on his son out of the corner of his eye. “If you can hit me today, a painful hit, we will go and retrieve those crystals in space.”

Trunks’ eyes widened, the slight lifting of his shoulders a testament to his strengthening resolve.

“However,” he continued, “should you fail, I will hear no complaints from you regarding cleaning your room and completing your school work, for an entire month.”

The woman ought to find those terms agreeable, at the very least.

Trunks just beamed at him, the boy nearly shaking with unbridled enthusiasm. “Yes papa, I accept this challenge!”

“That’s a good Saiyan!” Vegeta said, his fist lifting in slight salute to his son’s resolve. “Meet me in the training room in one hour.”

“Yes! Let’s do this! You’re goin’ down, papa!”

A strangled shout pulled Vegeta from his thoughts, shifting his focus back to his son, who was currently fighting tooth and nail to successfully attack him.

Vegeta was in a blue muscle shirt and training pants, having foregone his armor, to even the playing field as Trunks himself was just in a shirt and jogging pants.

They both looked so domesticated and human in their attires, but Vegeta had never felt more Saiyan than at this moment, as he watched his son pant with effort, the determination and barely leashed fury and battle lust shining in his blue eyes.

This was his _son._ His flesh and blood. His and Bulma’s. And he was definitely living up to his name, exceeding everyone’s expectations.

Including his own.

That little baby with his tiny tuft of purple hair and clumsy chubby legs had become this young man who was now _very, very close_ to actually injuring him.

Vegeta paid the price for his distraction when, upon dodging one of Trunks’ powerful blows, the Prince failed to realize that his son had somehow also inherited some of his dirtier tactics, and had coordinated his punch to take advantage of the timed laser beam of a wandering fight bot.

The bot fired, making Vegeta turn away from his young opponent to field off the attack, and Trunks used the opportunity to, with all his strength, lob a ki-fueled fist at his father.

Vegeta managed to turn slightly away to not take the full brunt of the boy’s strength, but as a result, the super-powered punch landed on his left arm, on the spot above his elbow.

“Argh!” he shouted, his shock jolting him into powering down, his right hand reaching up to clutch at his now painfully throbbing arm. Losing his concentration, he fell to the floor of the training room, 200 Gs weighing him down as he struggled to stay up, falling to his knees from the strain.

“Yes! I did it!” Trunks rejoiced, also powering down and running to his father, not having realized yet the extent of damage he had caused.

“Papa I’m sure I hit you hard! I won!” the boy exclaimed as he reached him, and Vegeta watched as his brows furrowed in concern as he regarded him.

“Papa? Did I hit you too hard? I…” Trunks asked, and he opened his mouth to answer, but a pained groan cut him off, and he saw the color leave his son’s face as he realized that he had injured his own father.

“Oh no,” Trunks flew off, to turn off the gravity, Vegeta presumed.

However, the boy had apparently panicked, and instead, went straight to activate the emergency shutdown. The whole training room shuddered to a stop, the failsafe shutting down all the power, and also sending an urgent alarm to –

“Vegeta!” Bulma’s voice echoed around the room, her worried face appearing on the communication screen. The emergency shutdown was programmed to send an alert to all of her personal communication devices. Her eyes searched the feed before it landed on Trunks.

“Trunks, what happened?” she asked.

“Mama,” he answered, turning to face the source of the sound of her voice. “Mama, Papa got hurt!”

“Trunks, Bulma, I am fine -” he tried to interject, but Bulma had already cut off the communication and somehow appeared at the now open doorway less than a minute later, medicine kit in hand.

“Mama!” Trunks exclaimed, flying to Bulma and basically dragging her to the fallen Saiyan.

“Vegeta, what happened?” she asked.

“Papa I’m sorry!” Trunks was saying, near tears in concern.” I didn’t mean to - ”

“Yes you did,” Vegeta cut him off, finally looking up at his son, who had gone still at his words.

“You meant that blow. You really meant it. And that hurt, boy,” Vegeta said, and Trunks looked down at his feet, unable to meet his eyes.

“Papa, I’m sor - ”

“You did well, Trunks.”

Trunks looked up, eyes wide and unblinking, disbelief written on his face. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he answered, giving his son a fond smirk. “Good work.”

Trunks beamed, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Bulma’s confused look.

“What exactly is happening here?” she asked, eyeing both of her boys.

“Bulma,” he turned to her, “How soon can we leave, if we need to go out into space?”

8-8-8-8-8

“I cannot believe you two!” Bulma fumed from inside their bedroom, knowing fully well that he can hear her perfectly while he washed up the sweat from his training in their private bathroom.

“Let me get this straight. You made a bet, that if he manages to maim you, we can go and have a family trip to space?!”

Vegeta smirked as he opened the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from the shower. A smaller towel was slung over his shoulder to catch any stray drops of water.

“Well, I promised him a space trip. Not a family trip. You can stay here if you do not want to come,” he answered, smirk widening as she turned to him in fury.

“Of course I’m coming! But that’s not the point! God dammit Vegeta, I can’t believe you volunteered to be Trunks’ punching bag!”

“Well, how else would the boy learn?”

“How about a nice, harmless sparring session?”

“A harmless session would yield no results,” he retorted, sitting on the edge of their bed, taking the smaller towel with his right hand and using it to scrub his head dry. “Besides, it is alright, Bulma. No one was seriously injured.”

“You hurt your arm again, Vegeta. You always hurt that arm. I told you that we should get it checked.”

“Checked by a human doctor who would probably faint in shock when he realizes that my bones are stronger than steel? Pointless. I am fine, woman,” he insisted, lifting said arm to _show_ her, but he did not anticipate the twinge of pain that came and he winced slightly at the sensation.

Bulma, of course, caught his reaction.

“You’re fine? Fine? I saw that, Vegeta,” she said, walking over to him and sitting beside him on the bed, her hand reaching down to gently lift his injured arm to let it rest on her lap.

“You don’t need to worry about this, the pain will be gone by morning,” he answered, before he felt a small grin stretch his lips. “You may be pleased to know that I made a good deal on that bet. Had he failed to hit me, he would have quietly cleaned his room and done his schoolwork for a few weeks.”

“Me threatening to take away his Playstation would have yielded the same results,” she retorted. Vegeta just chuckled at her irritation.

“Still. I had endeavored to be a ‘good father’, even though it unfortunately backfired.”

Her blue eyes rose up to meet his, then, and he was rather surprised to note that all traces of reprimand and irritation were now gone from her gaze, leaving behind her clear concern and a fondness that sometimes, he still could not believe that she felt for him.

“You _are_ a good father, Vegeta,” she whispered, a soft smile breaking across her lips.

Her loving smile made heat rise to his face, and he looked away, embarrassed at her praise.

“No, really, you are,” she continued. “You encourage him. You are strict and a bit terrifying, but Trunks loves you, and he looks up to you so much.”

He glanced back at her then, her bright smile making a different kind of warm pain blossom into his chest.

“I am so happy with how our family is right now, Vegeta,” she looked down at her hands still clutching his injured arm. “I am just so glad that, after the Cell Games, you decided that it was worth it to stay here. With us.”

A large lump rose into his throat when she smiled in earnest, one hand lifting to cup his cheek.

He watched as her face came closer, eyes drifting closed, and she pressed her soft, sweet lips onto his, sighing into his mouth when he parted his lips to taste her.

She moved closer to him, and he shifted, but a sharp pain struck his left arm at that moment and he unwittingly released a small gasp.

“Oh,” Bulma pulled back, her brows furrowed in concern once again. “I almost forgot about your arm!”

“Woman, I am fine!” he insisted, contradicting his own words when his right hand instinctively moved to hover over the pained limb.

Bulma was already up, taking the small hand towel he had been holding and dropping it down to the floor, and then began rooting around their medicine cabinet for some thick bandages and a soothing salve.

“Humor me, Vegeta,” she sighed in mild frustration. “Just let me wrap your arm, then, _maybe,_ I’ll give you a reward of your own, afterwards.”

He perked up when he sensed the subtle change in her tone. She had injected something naughty into those words, and he was suddenly a lot more interested in letting her fuss over his arm.

“A reward for what, Bulma?” he leered, putting heavy innuendo in his own tone.

“For being such a _good_ _daddy_ ,” she said with a salacious wink.

 “Oh really,” he grinned evilly, the fingers of his right hand fidgeting with the edges of his towel.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded with a lecherous grin, as she sat down beside him and pulled gently on his left arm again.

She picked up the bottle of salve that she had formulated in her lab, a powerful healing cream for Saiyan-sized injuries. She scooped some of the cream out with her fingers, then turned to him and began rubbing the medicine onto his arm, paying special attention to the part that had actually begun to bruise.

She clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “Trunks sure did a number on you, huh?”

“Yes he did,” he agreed, his attention arrested by the slow motions of her hands on him. “The boy is truly gifted. I look forward to the day when he overpowers me and defeats me in combat.”

She turned sharply to him then, eyes disbelieving. “Really?”

“Tch,” he looked away, feeling heat rising on his cheeks. “He is my son. I believe any man would be pleased when his child finally surpasses him. It only means that the father has taught him well.”

Her hands stilled on his arm and he looked back down on her, his eyes falling onto her deep blue eyes. Her eyes were shining, her lips twisting up into a soft smile, the contented sort of joyful smile that she only ever smiled at him.

That smile was _his._

She turned to pick up the bandages, then, kneeling up beside him, began wrapping the thick gauze around his injured arm.

When she finished, she took the medical supplies and placed them on the nearest table, then turning to him, gave him a sultry, meaningful smile that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He knew that look. He loved that look.

Moving to stand at the foot of their bed, she hooked her fingers onto the sides of her pants and began pushing them off, that naughty smile still on her lips as she slowly swayed her hips from side to side. When the elastic was down to her thighs, she released the garment, letting it drop to the floor.

His eyes greedily took in the creamy skin of her thighs, her long legs, watching as they came up and her knees pushed against the edge of the mattress as she leaned over him with a hand on his chest.

She began to gently push him back, until his back was pressed up against their headboard, his legs spread out before him, the towel still wrapped around his waist.

“Now,” she purred, her hands reaching up to slowly, torturously smooth against the wide expanse of his muscular chest. “I believe I owe you a reward?”

A wide, lustful grin spread across his face as he looked at her, his palms already twitching at the thought of feeling her against him.

“Yes, you may have mentioned it earlier,” his hands went up to pull her to him, but to his surprise, she held up her hands and placed them on his wrists, pushing his arms down to rest on the bed beside his hips.

“Oh no, you don’t. You are injured,” she murmured as she lifted herself up and knelt, placing her legs so his own were caged in by her, and she was astride him on the bed.

She crept closer, rubbing herself against his naked torso, the soft material of her shirt brushing delicately across his nipples. She pressed her hands to his chest again, her nose rubbing against his neck as she took in a deep inhale of his scent.

Something cold brushed against his throat, and he leaned his head back as he let her lave his neck with her tongue. Her breaths were starting to get heavy, and he could tell that she was arousing herself with the taste and scent of him.

She straightened, her mouth moving up to hover against his own, blowing hot air across his lips as she spoke, “Let me do all the work. You just rest your arm, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

With those words, she moved away, pulling her blouse off in a quick fluid motion. Her bare breasts greeted his delighted eyes, but before he could reach for them to feel their weight in his palms, she moved away, scooting down so her knees were beside his own.

He felt her hands tug at his towel, spreading it open and baring him to her. She glanced up into his face, her hungry eyes meeting his, and without letting go of his gaze, her hands smoothed up his muscular thighs, before one hand snuck up and wrapped around his manhood.

He hissed, leaning back against the headboard heavily, as his vulgar little wife leaned down and began pumping him with her hand. His legs parted further, inviting her attentions, and she responded, her other hand reaching down to fondle the heavy sacks between his thighs.

He looked down at her and found that she had shifted so that her head was bowed close to his lower abdomen, her pale back arched down, leading his eyes to the round ass thrust up, still hidden by her panties.

His right hand reached up to tangle in her short blue hair, the strands like water between his fingers.

She kept up the motions of her hand on him, her head lifting slightly to meet his eyes. He felt feverish from her attentions, and he tried hard to keep his eyes open so he could watch her as she pleasured him. Her pumps were going faster and faster, soft fingers and palm massaging his balls in gentle, circular motions that drove him wild with desire.

She smirked at him then, before she suddenly stooped down and wrapped her lips around him.

He groaned loudly as he felt her beautiful mouth cover his tip, suckling and licking him all around the head. She pulled away with a pop, then moved down to run her tongue along the underside of his cock, all the way from the base to the tip that was already leaking with pre-cum.

He shuddered when she looked back up at him, then, without taking her eyes off him, she slowly placed her mouth back around him, going deeper and deeper until he felt himself hit the back of her throat.

The moan she received from him was embarrassingly loud, but he didn’t truly care about making a fool of himself when what she was doing felt so fucking _good._

His hand fell away from her hair to tangle roughly among the sheets, fists tightening around the fabric as she pushed and pulled at him with her mouth.

“Bulma,” he gasped, and the woman hummed loudly with him still in her mouth, the vibrations caused by the sound surrounding him in a haze of delicious desire.

He felt himself nearing that pinnacle of pleasure, and he tried to let her know, but his throat wasn’t quite working. He lifted one hand to wrap around her upper arm, tugging her lightly, but she just swatted him away, and instead of stopping, she just sucked him even harder.

“Argh! Bulma!” he cried out, as she exhaled through her mouth around him, blowing the hot air onto him before a particularly strong suction finally pulled his release from him.

He came with a growl, his hands lifting up to curl behind him and grip the reinforced headboard, as he felt himself convulsing from the force of his pleasure, his cum shooting into Bulma’s willing mouth.

She was still sucking him, milking him, and had he been a lesser man, he would have already called out for mercy. When he felt the last of his release leave him, she stopped, pulling her lips away from his cock, before she straightened up to face him.

With a heavy lidded gaze, the vulgar woman smirked at him, then, very deliberately, _swallowed._

He groaned long and low, his manhood going unbelievably hard, unbelievably fast.

Bulma smiled at him again, before she turned to face away from him, moving so his parted legs were in between hers. She leaned down so her face was low, her lips brushing the tips of his toes.

She lifted her hips so that her beautiful buttocks waved teasingly up at him, the damp material framing her lower lips tantalizingly.

“Rip em off, ouji,” she said, her voice full of desire, and he complied eagerly, easily ripping the flimsy cloth off of his woman. Her glistening lower lips, wet with her arousal, pink and soft as flower petals, greeted him, and unable to help himself, he reached his tongue out and gave her a long, eager lick.

She gasped, and he lifted both hands to grasp her hips steady, his mouth covering her, tongue moving against her folds in languid up and down motions.

He was a man dying of thirst, and her essence was his sustenance. He licked her madly, his tongue entering her, trying to drink in every drop of her lust. Bulma was moaning loudly, her head down, her cheek pressed against the mattress near his feet.

She released a harsh cry, and just as he felt her body shudder in that way she did when she was close, she pulled herself away from him. A rough growl of protest escaped his lips as she set her butt to sit on his spread thighs, depriving him of her taste.

She turned her head slightly so she could regard him, then breathlessly said, “Didn’t I tell you to let me do all the work? This is your reward, babe,” she chuckled softly.

Vegeta watched with interest as she lowered herself so her chest was flat against the length of his legs, her scrumptious ass moving closer to his cock as she spread her legs open wider. She fidgeted, and he then saw that her crafty little hand had moved down, and she then reached to grasp him once again, guiding him into her waiting core.

He groaned as he entered her warmth, the feeling of his woman surrounding him the most delectable sensation he had ever experienced.

Bulma used her arms to push back against him, her buttocks slapping against his lower abdomen as she moved herself to and fro, her nipples rubbing against his legs as her chest heaved with her exertions.

He could hear her harsh breaths, loud gasps and keening whines escaping her as she pleasured herself with his body, sating his own desires and building them both up to what he knew was going to be a blinding release.

He grasped her hips again, helping her along when she began to stutter with her movements. Moving her to a beat that only they could hear, their bodies dancing to a rhythm only they could follow.

“Vegeta!” she cried, burrowing her face into the sheets as she began to lose control, her insides convulsing with her oncoming climax.

“I’m… almost… Oh kami! Vegeta, I’m cumming!” Bulma keened, and Vegeta began to move her faster against him, his motions losing control as he too neared his peak.

“Bulma!” he growled, his eyes trained on her body, his ears listening to each exhale and whimpered syllables of his name.

When she came, she arched up, throwing her head back, a guttural cry leaving her throat as her core spasmed wildly around him.

He moved her hips, once, twice, thrice… before a powerful, blinding sensation filled him, his own head falling hard against the headboard as he spilled himself into her gorgeous body.

Bulma slumped down onto his legs, panting hoarsely, unable to move her limbs from the strain of her earlier movements.

He himself still felt boneless, but he summoned the force of his will into his arms so he could move, gently lifting his wife up to him, both of them slumping down to lay on their bed, arms wrapped around each other.

When they finally caught their breaths, Bulma tightened her hold on him, squeezing him against her with her delicate arms.

“So… where exactly are we going when we head off to space?” she murmured, her breaths tickling his chest as she spoke.

Vegeta peered down at her, one hand pushing a stray stand of hair away from her face so he could regard her fully.

“There is this nearby exoplanet where I told Trunks I had left some personal belongings on. He would like to go on an excursion to retrieve them,” he answered.

“Do you remember the coordinates?”

“Not the exact location, but it is, if I remember correctly, orbiting a star about 29 light years away.”

“That’s not too far, we can make it in a week,” she said, and Vegeta could see that she was already plotting calculations in her head. “Is it part of a star cluster?”

“I believe your earth scientists have called the star Gliese 785.”

“That sounds familiar,” she remarked, looking up at him. “It’s part of one of the zodiac constellations.”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod. “It is part of what you earthlings call, the Capricornus.”

8-8-8-8-8

END

8-8-8-8-8

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me because of a fandom joke about Vegeta’s left arm. Why is it always the left arm? Is it a weak spot? A recurring injury? A fracture that never healed right? Really bad timing? 
> 
> Well, whatever it may be, that bum arm led to this. 
> 
> Reference for the Capricorn position here: http://sexpositions.club/positions/245.html 
> 
> Feedback will be greatly appreciated!


End file.
